Tomorrow's Bride(8)

'Ah... Then some other time perhaps.' 'Perhaps,' she agreed, but in a  particular tone of contradiction which was unmistakable. 'Oh, and-----'  she had barely noticed his goodnight, and called after him as he stepped  into the lift '-and thank you.' But the doors slammed shut and she was  uncertain that he had heard.

The door to the tiny hall was barely closed, and she had hardly taken a  step towards the single bedroom she used in Paris, when a sudden  rat-a-tat, imperative and impatient, took her hurrying back, cheeks  glowing, heart hammering in excited relief and a quite inexplicable  anticipation.

'Pa-----' The greeting was stifled on her lips. Her sense of  disappointment was like a blow when she saw who was standing there. She  held open the door. 'Oh, Kyle.' Her voice was flat, weary. 'I didn't  expect to see you. I thought you were due on an early flight for  Strasbourg.'

'I just wanted to give you this.' He offered her a file which she took  without enthusiasm. "Thought it would help with your meeting tomorrow.'  'Is Anna with you?'

'Mmm. Downstairs in the car. I met Patrick Cavour in the hallway.'

'He gave me a lift from the airport-we were on the same flight from Strasbourg. Just by chance,' she added, to her own vexation.

'Really?' He didn't sound even family interested, for which she was  thankful and which made her self-conscious excuse doubly redundant.  'Well-----' he glanced at his watch '-I must dash or we'll miss our  plane, but thanks, Leigh, for sparing Anna for the last few days. It  really did make life much easier while I was here.'                       
       
           



       

'Good.' She looked up from the file she was holding. 'Well, it was a  chance for her to come to Paris. She coped with everything?'

'Yes. Marvellously. And, as you say, it's been good experience for her. Well, see you in a few days.'

'What? Oh, yes. Goodbye, Kyle.'

When she was alone in the flat, Leigh walked to the window and stood  looking out over rooftops gleaming softly in the light from street-lamps  but without seeing them. Thoughts of Kyle, of Anna, of her own reasons  for being in Paris at all were totally submerged in an overwhelmingly  dismal sense of loss and deprivation which was difficult to explain.

And, annoyingly, those feelings seemed to be centred on the fact that  she had been invited out to dinner by a man from her past, an attractive  man, most people would agree, but the one man in the world to whom she  was no longer susceptible.

So why, in heaven's name, had she refused so precipitately? The query  floated into her mind in a despairing kind of way. Here she was, being  offered the perfect opportunity to convince herself that her feelings  for him were, if not entirely platonic, at least under control, and she  had tossed it away, had even given him the impression that any  subsequent invitations would e similarly rejected.

He was bound to have picked up the idea that | she didn't trust herself  in his company; the very I notion was humiliating. She ought to have  gone I with him, made polite, light-hearted conversation, asked all  sorts of questions about his family-in short, acted exactly as she would  have done with all the other old friends from those days. That would  have cemented in his mind the futility of hankering after the past...  and maybe even in her own mind.

She thrust aside the idea that she needed any convincing, but all the  same.. .it would have been nice if she could have rid herself of the  load of bitterness and pain which she had carried around with her all  these years. She might even have been able to eliminate the baleful  significance that Gillian Place's name had assumed in her thoughts. If  she had been able to frame a light-hearted question she could have  discovered how deeply he had been involved.

Back here, alone in her flat, it was easy to imagine herself with him in  the restaurant, when they reached the coffee stage, when her wine glass  had been drained and she was feeling mellow and relaxed. She would lean  forward, elbows on the table, fingers linked together, supporting her  chin, and she would ask, frowning a little, as if the thought had just  come into her head, 'And how did that girl-what was her name, now?- she  was a nurse, I think, a friend of Debbie... Oh, yes.' Her face would  clear as the name burned on her mind all at once came to her. 'Gillian  Place. How did she fit into the project in Ashala?'

She could imagine no situation in which Patrick Cavour would actually  blush, but he would certainly be taken aback; most likely he I would  look down into his coffee-cup, spend a great deal of time stirring  slowly, then he would look up at her. 'So you know about Gillian, do  you?'

'Mmm.' She would sip her coffee, press her lips together as she savoured  the brew. 'Yes, Debbie told me that you had taken her out to Bangladesh  with you. I expect you found her a great asset, a qualified nurse, and  doubtless in other ways too.'

Oh... what was the use? Angry with herself, she turned abruptly from the  window. There was no way she could remain cool and detached if she were  to bring up that name. The mere mention of it to Patrick Cavour and her  voice would become all wobbly, and more likely than lot she would burst  into tears and have to make a blind dash for the ladies' room,  returning with some transparent fiction about an allergy which posed her  to cough and sneeze at the most inconvenient times.

No, she had made entirely the right decision. She refused to consider  any regrets where he was concerned. Her life nowadays was good, and all  the time getting better. At this moment all she wanted for complete  contentment was a quick shower, a pleasant meal and then an early night  with some escapist fiction.

The tears which streaked her cheeks were very soon obliterated in a douche of warm water.





CHAPTER THREE



As SHE finished dressing, Leigh stood in front of the mirror swiftly  applying make-up, acknowledging that her depression was beginning to  lift. All day she had been feeling down-something to do with a restless  night in a strange bed, and added to that the stultifying boredom of the  meeting she had had to attend. She must remember to dodge Kyle's  suggestions in future. Even an afternoon window-gazing along some of the  most exciting streets in the world hadn't managed to eliminate her  melancholy.                       
       
           



       

But now, about to set off on a visit which promised only pleasure,  devoid of the near-trauma of recent encounters, she felt she might be on  the road to recovery. Besides, it was very difficult to remain  depressed when the mirror was giving such very encouraging signals, when  the blouse she had picked up in a tiny boutique looked so good with  this favourite skirt.

Holly had implied that it was to be a casual evening so the tiered  cotton skirt would be about right. The gauzy blouse with ruffled  plunging neckline and full bracelet sleeves... well, a bit fancy  perhaps, but then she never could resist those intense midnight shades,  which had a magical effect on her looks as well as her spirits, and her  hair was long enough to twist into the cottage-loaf style which suited  her.

Almost satisfied now, she stood back, approving the elegant sway of the  skirt, adjusting the wide belt which drew attention to the slender  waist. A touch more lipstick to outline the mouth, a tiny spray of  flowery scent, and she was ready to meet Paul Santorini III and IV. Just  the parcels to pick up-a gorgeous teddy bear with a huge red tartan  bow, pralines for chocoholic Holly and whisky for Paul, of whose  preferences she was entirely ignorant. She walked downstairs just as her  cab pulled up in front of the apartment block.

'Doesn't she look glamorous?' Having introduced her husband and her best  friend, and expressed delight over the gifts, Holly swept them both in  front of her and into the long, elegant salon.

'She does.' Offering a tray with glasses of chilled wine, Paul exchanged an amused glance with Leigh. Tm very impressed.'

'Did I describe her properly?' Then, without waiting for a reply, 'She hasn't changed a bit.'

'I wonder if you described me properly to Leigh?' her husband teased. 'And, come to that, does she think you've changed much?'

'Oh, me?' Holly shrugged ruefully. 'I bet all she notices is that I've  put on about twenty pounds. That,' she sighed, 'is what being blissfully  happy and having a baby does for you.'

'I can't entirely agree with you there.' Paul was perfectly serious.  'I've had a baby too, wouldn't dare to be less than blissfully happy,  and haven't gained an ounce.'

'Idiot.' His wife threw a cushion at him and missed. 'People who won't  put on weight make me sick. But, speaking of babies... I'm sure Leigh is  dying to see our little wonder.'

'I thought you'd never mention it.' Leigh spoke with more tact than  truth and a moment later she was being led across the hall and into the  nursery.